Lovers' Notes and Stealing Kisses
by Demus
Summary: Sequel to Incubus. The Maou has staked his claim on Conrart's heart and body, now Yuuri and Conrart must learn to live in awareness of their feelings. It takes the breaking of an engagement, lover's notes, enforced separation, a shared bath, a shared bed


Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou

* * *

Yuuri's breathing was growing heavier as Conrart explored his body, twisting involuntarily on crumpled sheets. The soldier kept his touches light, unthreatening, alert for the slightest hint of fear or unease from his king. The boy's initial awkwardness faded, slowly but surely, and his blush of embarrassment gave way to the flush of arousal. Tension of uncertainty and fright gave way to a rippling fluidity of muscles that flexed with Conrart's movements, seeking his touch.

With the first moans that rumbled through Yuuri's chest, Conrart became bolder. He began to follow teasing fingertips with the moist brush of his warm breath, the fleeting caress of lips, a sly lick or nip.

In the weeks since that first night spent together, the two half-Mazoku had taken some time to settle into their new roles as lovers. Their first action, alien as it might have seemed, was an enforced separation; Yuuri had taken Wolfram, grumbling all the way, on a three-day trail ride around Blood Pledge Castle, in order to break the news to him before all others. The blushing, stammering king (_so cute, so unbearably cute with that red flush and inability to meet Conrart's eyes, so heartbreakingly young in his response to a man whose body he now knew intimately, if only in tiny flashes of a memory that wasn't fully his own_) had explained his reasons to Conrart in the lazy day after that frantic night, stating decisively that he at least owed Wolfram the chance to maul him a little and, more than that, they both needed to re-evaluate their relationship. So much, along their journey together, had revolved around Wolfram's misguided attempts at affection and Yuuri's total incomprehension of the blond's actions. They had to start re-learning each other as simply friends, and they needed to be alone to do that.

Yuuri returned with a black eye and a melancholy, brooding prince.

Nevertheless, as a fussing Gunter dragged Yuuri down from Ao and went into full-blown histrionics in Wolfram's general direction, Conrart had observed a weary sort of pride in large black eyes, and noticed that his brother's step was in fact lighter, bouncier, than that of a heartbroken young lover. Unnoticed by all but the soldier, Wolfram had deviated half a pace from his route to the stables to buffet Yuuri's shoulder with his own in a friendly, playful gesture that was met by a small smile from the king and inconsolable wailing from Gunter. Reconciliation, it seemed, was not a distant dream. Though it was, of course, taken as read that Wolfram's fits of pique and temper would be tolerated with a great deal more patience in the ensuing weeks- for a time, at least.

The second action that the new couple took, as a matter of courtesy and course, was to officially announce the relationship to Yuuri's court. The complete non-reaction that resulted shocked them. Everyone, it seemed, had felt the whole thing inevitable, to the point of engaging in an enthusiastic round of gambling based on when the two would confess, who would make the first move, where the first encounter would happen, and so on and so forth. It was enough to make poor Yuuri faint dead away from humiliation and astonishment, and if Conrart had tugged him a little closer than usual upon catching him, no one but the three maids felt it appropriate to comment (and then only in hushed voices).

Greta was, of course, delighted that she would still officially have two parents, but since all three of the brothers had become de facto uncles anyway, the announcement had little effect on her.

The third order of business was a little more complicated. They had to become lovers.

Due to the unconventional nature of their coming-together, both parties found themselves somewhat out of their depth. Yuuri's youth, innocence and inexperience left him, in the cold light of day, daunted and fearful of the prospect of a genuine relationship. Ever-jittery, ever-skittish, the young king was practically rabbit-like in his uncertainty towards Conrart. Similarly, Conrart found himself in the awkward position of being the king's lover without actually being able to get within several feet of him, unless he wanted to launch the boy into red-faced stammering idiocy.

The situation was very far from ideal.

All things considered, it was something of a relief for everyone concerned when Murata pitched Yuuri headfirst into a duck pond, with an amused glint in his eyes that suggested his action was prompted as much by his own wish as the Original King's.

In the weeks that followed, Conrart had thrown himself into his duties with the single-minded determination of a man who possessed not only much to think about, but also a sincere and fervent desire to avoid thinking as much as possible. It was remarkably effective. Conrart barely noticed his own abject misery until Yozak's eventual accusation (_"Honestly, Captain, you're moping like a puppy who's lost his nose!"_), made him realise that missing Yuuri was worse than missing a limb, was worse than having a dead man's arm forcibly attached to his body, worse than knowing he must betray his brothers, his people, his king and everything that had ever had meaning in his life (and there were few people, thankfully, who could claim to truly understand _that_ situation). Missing Yuuri, once he stopped distracting himself and thought about it, was like waking each morning to a dawnless sky. No, it was like being buried underground, breathing in the moist, cloying air of a grave whilst the sun rose and fell out of reach- because Yuuri was living, glowing and shining a whole universe away and Conrart hadn't even kissed him goodbye…

Instead he kissed him hello, upon his return.

The image was one he liked to recall whenever he felt lonely and the night pressed to close about him; Yuuri, his hair plastered to his face, his clothes clinging to the too-thin, gawky lines of his body, trembling with the shock of cold water and warm lips. His eyes closed, his head tilted back, his cheeks rosy as he panted in Conrart's grip- then the soldier watched an eagerly-awaited sun rise in Yuuri's face as he opened dark, dark eyes to gaze, in undisguised adoration, up at him.

So they became lovers in little, insignificant ways. The brush of shoulders, the touch of hands. Holding gazes longer, deeper, than before. Tugging uneven hem lines, straightening each other's messy hair with a bedroom intimacy that their chaste bedroom activities did not warrant. Sharing cups and sandwiches and chairs and chocolates and jokes. Carelessly written notes, dispatched from Yuuri's office to wherever Conrart might be- _Fear Gwendal may be trying to bury me alive under paperwork to prevent potential civil war, advice?_ or _I can hear you training outside the window_ or _Do you like pie? _or _My wrist hurts _or _Come get me?_ Conrart kept all of them, all the jagged-edged scraps of parchment that Yuuri had purloined from the important government documents he was meant to be reading. It was something like courtship, remaining in constant demand of attention, and Conrart never wanted to forget a single moment of it.

He kept them hidden from Yuuri.

Wolfram took over Yuuri's sword training (nobody had quite managed to work out why, but many suspected a continuing desire from the fiancé days to give Yuuri a fresh veneer of bruises every week or so), so Yuuri could continue to learn him as friend and brother. The older brother, however, missed those training sessions. The king came so marvellously _alive_ in the throes of physical exertion, so impassioned and vibrant…which more often than not led Conrart to extremely impure thoughts about his nervous lover, so it was with reluctant acceptance that he yielded the task at Wolfram's demand.

And instead, he made sure to apprehend the Maou and kiss him breathless as often as propriety allowed. He would not be denied his lover's blushes. Yuuri was becoming an adept kisser, the honest delight he took from the simple act was incredibly endearing. It was now slightly unusual to see one or the other of the couple depart from each other without suspiciously swollen lips.

And then the royal couple would end sticky, wearying, aching days with a shared bath and a shared bed.

Which, of course, led to certain other issues. It was all very well to collapse on top of each other and fall asleep, but as time went on it became obvious that the state of affairs could not continue. Morning hard-ons were problematic enough, and having a wriggly, physically-fit, drool-worthy teenager sprawl all over you when you were attempting not to hurry or force said teenager into a sexual relationship…well, it was only so long before one of them cracked. Surprisingly, it had been Yuuri.

Conrart had been soaking in the bath, minding his own business as he enjoyed the hot water, when his combat senses had made him very aware of an intense scrutiny. When he'd looked, however, he'd found Yuuri to be heavily engaged in rinsing shampoo out of his hair and entirely oblivious. Shrugging it off as paranoia, he'd returned to what he was doing. Only to have it happen again. And again. And again.

After the seventh repetition, Conrart had been forced to confront the king, or admit to himself that he had finally gone insane. Yuuri's embarrassment at being found out was only matched by his fervency in returning Conrart's kisses and touches, and it hadn't been long before they were both screaming out their releases into the muggy, steam-laden air.

No one else had used that particular bathroom since.

So to this. Here, now, with pale limbs sprawled, twitching incessantly beneath Conrart, attuned absolutely to his cautious ministrations. Yuuri let out a squeak as a tongue briefly circled his left nipple, arching up instinctively to meet the warm, wet touch. Conrart chuckled into his skin. As he kissed his way across Yuuri's chest, he allowed his hands to investigate the king's belly button, tracing Yuuri's stomach with a ticklish touch that made his lover chuff out a laugh and squirm. Emboldened by the reactions, Conrart lapped a meandering path down to the yielding softness, moving slowly so he wouldn't startle his lover.

Gradually, as he became accustomed to the newness, Yuuri relaxed. Conrart had not, up till now, introduced his tongue to the cat-and-mouse game of sensual exploration. Sex should always be something natural and safe between them, thus he had resolved never to rush his teenage lover. Yuuri, so blithe and brash in many ways, was remarkably shy and sensitive in his sensuality. Though the Maou's seduction of Conrart had seemingly erased any trace of his shyness towards Conrart's naked body, the intensity and abandonment of actually performing sexual acts with that body daunted Yuuri, frightened him, and so the physical side of their relationship progressed as had the emotional; one tiny step at a time.

Daringly, Conrart squeezed Yuuri's thighs, spreading his legs a little further apart and following the squeeze with the tender ministrations of his tongue. A groan answered him. Encouraged, the solider stroked his fingertips through the curled hair at Yuuri's groin and lowered his head, his lips parting to draw the king's straining erection into his mouth…

With a startled cry, Yuuri jerked away. Conrart sat up, immediately ceasing all contact with his king. It was with a rueful air that he examined his lover- Yuuri was trembling, his lips quivering, his eyes wide and bright with fright. Ah, he was moving too quickly…He reached out to cup the Maou's cheek, stroking pale skin with his thumb. "Too much?"

Yuuri nodded, sniffing a little, then let himself be drawn into a comforting embrace. The intimate brush of bare skin anchored and settled him, and his heartbeat began to steady. He reciprocated the embrace by slinging his arms around his lover's neck, burying his face into a bare neck and allowing himself to be coddled, allowing himself to be spoiled. "Just...a little," he admitted. Conrart responded by pulling him effortlessly into his lap, hunching his back so that he could curl up around his king's shivering form. A tiny pinprick of cold wetness caressed his neck and he tilted his head so his cheek nestled against thick black hair. With the tears came a familiar, awkward, gulping sound of Yuuri's breath catching with the effort to calm himself.

Several heartbeats passed.

His composure restored somewhat, Yuuri found himself slumping in his lover's hold and nuzzling his nose into smooth, warm skin. "M'sorry," he mumbled, awkwardly.

A sigh ruffled his hair. "You have done nothing wrong."

"Haven't done much right either," the boy insisted, petulant in his guilty stubbornness.

Through his sensitive scalp, Yuuri felt Conrart's lips curve into a smile. "I should have known you'd be bratty in bed, when you are so tolerant in dealing both with Wolfram and delicate political affairs," the soldier teased.

Yuuri snorted. His lips twitched against his will, but he managed to turn his smile into an indignant huff. Conrart was entirely too skilled at coaxing him out of his funks, and sometimes he wanted to _sulk_, damnit.

Without warning, hands that were stroking his back slid round to his front, grasping his flagging erection and enticing it to full hardness in but a few caring strokes. Within minutes, he was writhing wordlessly in Conrart's lap, his head thrown back, his eyes open but unseeing as skilled fingertips worked him to a quick, intense climax.

He slumped, exhausted by his orgasm and the release of his emotions. Conrart pressed a kiss to his sweaty forehead, and he found that he did not mind the fact that the hands that now cradled him were sticky with his come. The burn of Conrart's erection against his thigh concerned him, but his tired fumblings were swiftly halted by the soldier and he was laid back, protesting, to lie limp on rumpled sheets. He snuggled up to the long body, making a second half-hearted attempt to see to his lover's needs before his wrists were firmly taken in strong (now-dry) hands and a reprimanding voice sounded in his ears.

Yuuri settled, obediently. "Conrad?" he asked, after a moment, sleepily pressing his face to the man's fine throat.

"Hm?" Conrart's voice rumbled pleasantly in his chest, making Yuuri squirm closer.

"What was your first time like?"

The hands that held his wrists, thumbs stroking his skin, tightened momentarily. "Why do you ask?"

Yuuri blinked his eyes open. His nose wrinkled as he thought about the question, and he was aware of Conrart's cheek pressing into his unruly mop of hair. "I'm not sure," he responded, tentatively, his eyes following as he rotated his wrists in his lover's grip.

A heavy silence fell between them, thick and sluggish with unspoken meaning. The weight of it dragged at the young Maou's flagging concentration but the question, once asked, could not be taken back, leaden and awkward as it might be, so Yuuri resisted the creeping teenage urge to slip into sleep, his orgasm-exhausted body slowly succumbing to the comfortable warmth of both bed and lover.

"It might be better," Conrart posited, breaking into the quiet with delicate ease, "to discuss this when you are less tired."

"Conr-" Yuuri's body chose this moment to inflict a jaw-breaking yawn on him, effectively disproving his indignant denial before it had begun. Conrart released one of his wrists and trailed his hand up over Yuuri's arm, across his shoulder and down his back in a single fluid motion, settling heavy on his hip, a motion that was so effortless in its intimacy that the Maou felt a blush quiver in his cheeks, felt his lax muscles tighten in tiny, automatic responses to the man's caress. He swallowed, heavily. "Conrad," he tried again, sorting through jumbled emotions and thoughts, "I...you see, the thing…the thing is, you know _everything_ about me, or almost everything, and I don't know any-" his breath hitched and the soldier's grip strengthened, "anything about you."

The hand still clasping one of his wrists tightened, momentarily. It held him for a moment longer, then released and trailed its fingertips over the soft skin of the king's inner forearms. "And why that particularly?" Conrart asked, gently.

"I…It's as good a place to start as any..." In all honesty, Yuuri wasn't fully sure why he needed to know, but he _did_- Conrart was a century old at least (from what he could work out) and centuries-old amazing guys don't do more with virgins than take their virginity. Not to generalise, but it wasn't exactly standard for them to stick around afterwards for the cuddle. Perhaps there was something in the man's romantic history that might help explain what attracted him to a gawky, awkward, naïve teenage king.

Luckily, Conrart didn't seem to want to press him for his reasons. Instead, he settled into the mattress a touch more with a contented sigh, and his cheek lifted from Yuuri's hair as he stared up at the ceiling.

Yuuri waited. Conrart seemed to be considering his answer very carefully. He'd probably had a lot of lovers, the young king realised with a jolt. He was dashing, handsome, courtly, deadly, famous, dangerous…he was a national hero, the man should have been fighting people off with a stick, but instead he was here, curled up in Yuuri's bed with a teenager who was freaked out by sex and still found kissing in front of people uncomfortable. Surely that wasn't normal? Surely there were far more suitable candidates for his affections?

The soldier shifted beneath him and Yuuri realised he'd drifted off on one of his insane mental tangents. And it was like waking up to Conrart, which was his favourite thing, aside from the gap between Conrart's eyes and the tingling warmth of that large hand on his shoulder or the first few notes of his laugh- Yuuri loved, along with all of these things, waking to Conrart lazy and large like a jungle cat, all sleek muscle and graceful repose. During the day, during the evening, almost every moment until his eyes closed, Conrart was the perfect model of an attentive retainer and conscientious lover but in the first few minutes of waking, he was a languorous, lethargic creature, tactile, affectionate, relaxed and at ease with sleep-misted eyes and a small, contented smile. Compared to waking up with Wolfram…or, rather, compared to _not_ waking up with Wolfram, a thought which never turned his stomach like the thought of not waking up with Conrart did.

"My first time," Conrart said, finally, calling back Yuuri's wayward attention, "as I recall it, I was nineteen years old, it was the night before my first battle, and I was so desperate to lose my virginity that I let myself be seduced by our Sergeant Major. She was a fearsome woman, but she was very tactful about my fumbling around."

Yuuri sniggered, then quieted himself to consider the new information. "So, you, you did it with a girl first time?"

"Indeed."

"Like a normal person," the Maou mused, nuzzling Conrart's chest.

The pause that followed was oddly weighty, tense.

Conrart's voice was soft with regret when he spoke; "Yours was unusual in every way."

And there it was again, that guilt, that guilt again that Yuuri wished Conrart wouldn't feel, the guilt he wished he could block out, but it hung between them in every hesitation, in every pause between the man's whispered promises and his careful touch. They'd never really discussed that first night and the king was unwilling to broach the subject. Conrart seemed to feel he had committed some sort of unspeakable sin, even if the Maou had been the one to instigate and direct their coupling. Yuuri wasn't entirely sure how the Maou felt about the whole situation- he both was and was not Yuuri, they were two sides of the same coin, disparate and parallel at once. Did that make them two people? Yuuri was pretty certain that he _was_ his own person, separate from the Maou, but that didn't mean the Maou wasn't irrevocably _him_.

Actually, if he thought about it, that first time probably hadn't been the Maou's first time, even though their shared body was a virgin, but could souls be virginal? They shared a soul, it was only their conscious minds that differed. And what did that mean for _Yuuri_ and was he actually something very far removed from a virgin, how many hearts and minds and _hands_ had touched him, or was it him at all they had touched and oh lord his head hurt, he had to stop thinking in circles…

Conrart startled him with a kiss, effectively shutting his brain up, for which he was thankful. Trust the man to know exactly what he needed at any given moment.

When his lips were released with a final swipe of his tongue, Yuuri slumped back to his lover's chest. "You're good at that," he commented, dazedly. When Conrart chucked, the king abruptly remembered what he'd been thinking about. "I, I've never regretted what, what yo-we did," he stuttered, nervously. "Even if it wasn't…wasn't entirely…me…"

The faltering statement made Conrart's heart jump beneath his ear, and he nuzzled at it again. "I never thought you'd actually want me like that," he confessed. "You've got a lot going for you, and I'm not…not exactly an ideal candidate for a l-lover." He always stumbled on the word, with a teenager's embarrassment.

The hand on his hip began to move, rubbing in slow, soothing circles. Yuuri quieted, concentrating on the touch, the feeling of it.

"I love you," Conrart said, softly. "Is that reason enough?"

It wasn't something they said. They'd never said it, not ever, not once during their slow weeks of courtship and consummation.

Yuuri gaped at his lover, uncomprehending. Love…love was…love was, like, forever…

Brown eyes returned his stare, calmly and evenly. Conrart smiled, warm and rueful, and lifted his right hand from Yuuri's arm to touch his cheek. "It's not something you should fear, or feel obligated by," he said, gently. "It is my gift to you, I give it freely with no expectation of your returning it. I just…You have a right to know why I become a useless wreck when you are away for even a handful of days. You have a right to know that my heart is yours to command, and whatsoever you wish of it, you may have."

"Conrad-"

"Yuuri."

Yuuri's eyes felt hot and sore, too large for his head, and he buried them against Conrart's neck, needing the man's strength. "I don't know what that _means_," he pleaded, cut adrift by the confession

Conrart gathered him as close as possible, cocooning him inside the embrace. "I know. I know, love, I know."

The king's thin shoulders shook with emotion and Conrart closed his own eyes against Yuuri's hair. "Go to sleep," he soothed, tenderly caressing his young lover's back. "Just go to sleep."

* * *

It was an infinitesimal, torturous climb from sleep on some days.

Yuuri dragged his eyes open with a wide-mouthed, satisfying yawn. What he could see of the room without moving was tentatively-lit, soft, greyish light that meant the sun had yet to fully rise. The bed was too hot to be entirely comfortable, rich with a familiar, masculine scent and the king smiled. Conrart.

Military training from the time he was strong enough to lift a sword meant that it was rare for Conrart to sleep in past dawn and it was therefore Yuuri's duty to savour the occasions whenever they occurred. He wriggled, trying to ascertain his lover's position without looking, and froze when he encountered warm weight just behind him. He heard Conrart sigh as they touched, then the bed shifted as he rolled and Yuuri felt the long body press close to him, an uncoordinated arm flopping about his waist with disturbing accuracy.

Well. That hadn't gone quite as planned. Warm breaths were being huffed into his neck, making him squirm at their moist touch, and his wriggling led him to notice something else, something that pushed into his lower back with familiar and undeniable insistence. Yuuri swallowed hard, then wriggled again, sliding his hips back until his spine was flush with Conrart's torso, and the wayward erection was rubbing up against his buttocks. Conrart let out another little noise, more grunt than sigh, and tightened his grip. The young king took several deep breaths, trying to relax, trying to convince his speeding pulse that he wasn't in danger, of course he wasn't, it was just Conrart, the man who professed to love him and kissed him with such tenderness…

His body seemed unconvinced.

The muscles in his legs kept twitching with anxious tension, automatically bracing for flight. Yuuri dropped a hand to the limb locked about him, feeling the recognizable weight and shape of his lover's arm, stroking skin he had worshipped with his fingertips until its unique texture, unique yield, was imprinted upon his mind. _Safety_, his instincts told him, _Always safety, here_, and his whole body loosened, draining of physical anxiety, slumping heavier against Conrart and his eager morning wood.

It was still too soon. Too soon to even contemplate the physical realities of the act. Yuuri's brow furrowed. Their relationship, such as it was, was directed by Conrart- naturally, he was the one with all the experience and the bendier tongue- but the pace at which it moved was entirely dependent upon Yuuri's guarded, whinging comfort zones. Admittedly, they had shrunk some due to his lover's…well, his lover, but they cast an even darker shadow upon the relationship than Conrart's lingering guilt. That did not make for a fair, balanced exchange between equals, and Yuuri was nothing if not a staunch defender of justice.

For Conrart (whom he knew he felt _something_ for, but didn't want to name those feelings in case they might flutter away like butterflies rather than be pinned down), for his lover, he could face his insecurities.

Slowly, infinitesimally slowly, he twisted in the man's grip, carefully wriggling free of the tight grip until he could slip free of Conrart's arms and turn onto his other side to observe the man. Fine lips were parted as the soldier breathed long, light breaths. Half of his face was buried in the pillows, the visible half was slack, at peace. Yuuri found his eyes drawn to a close study of long eyelashes, quivering slightly against a tanned cheek, and the long arch of the scar slashing across his eyebrow. On impulse, Yuuri felt himself leaning down to press a kiss to the scar, the mark of his lover's bravery and hardship, then let his tongue flicker nervously out to taste the skin there, as Conrart had to him the night before. A sigh made him jerk back, swift in his fear of waking the other, and he licked his lips, considering. A touch salty, earthy, something like the way Conrart smelled, but less intense…it was nothing like he'd expected.

Irresistibly, his eyes were drawn down to the incongruous bulge in the sheets, and he couldn't help wondering…it couldn't be so bad, could it? Conrart had seemed so eager to do it yesterday, before Yuuri's nerve fainted pathetically away, it _had_ felt good, amazing, actually, just _overwhelming_, but maybe that's what sex (his mind still stumbled on the word) should be, something that you give everything, including your sanity, to. If he was going to meet the shattering flame of his fears, he must do it head-on, fighting with the inexorable certainty of water.

And the twenty-seventh Maou of Shin Makoku was nothing, if not stubborn in meeting his challenges.

Cautious, he lifted the sheets away from Conrart's body, pausing when he rolled, with a lip smack, onto his back (possibly in search of warmth). He was unable to resist sliding closer to admire the broad chest that he'd revealed- hard and muscled, smooth skin and taut sinews, he was reaching to stroke with light fingertips before he could stop. He wanted to press close and rub himself against that body like a cat (_they'd done that in the past, too far gone to control their hands, and it felt incredible, all that weight and power surrounding him, violent as it thrust against him, stealing his breath and his reason_), he wanted to snuggle into Conrart's chest and spread his own scent over the man's skin.

Blushing furiously at his own urges, Yuuri continued to stroke with ticklish-light touches, dragging his fingertips over battle-hardened muscle, light enough to stimulate, light enough to keep Conrart in dreams. He'd sneakily experimented on the few occasions when he'd caught Conrart napping and could summon up the courage to touch- he knew how much pressure to apply and still let the man sleep on. It pleased him to know. He was learning Conrart's body as much as Conrart had been learning his.

The young king braced both his hands on firm pectoral muscles, rubbing at hardened nubs of nipples, and leaned down to nose at the spot just below Conrart's left ear, nuzzling into his hairline and flicking his tongue out again to test his skin. Conrart sighed in unconscious response, tilting his head away to expose his throat. Yuuri grinned, delighted, and nosed his way down his lover's neck to reward him, delivering a lick here, a kiss there. A moment of daring even led him to nip, daintily, at the softer skin below the strong edge of a jawbone, but Conrart's answering shift threatened to bring him up from sleep, so Yuuri carefully catalogued the idea away for future experimentation.

Somewhat clumsily. Yuuri worked his methodical way down his lover's torso. Blood began to thud faster through his veins, his cock beginning to harden and throb as he immersed himself in the sight and smell and feel (and for the first time, _taste_) of his lover. Surrounding himself, devoting himself entirely to Conrart, what could be more arousing?

Finally, he drew level with the reason for his determination. He eyed the bulge, some of his nerves returning. It was rare for him to be eye-to-eye with Conrart's cock (oh, there was the mental blush _again_; his body couldn't spare any real blood for his cheeks at the moment). Taking a deep breath, he lifted the last fold of the sheet away.

He stared. It stared back. Conrart's cock (and _how_ he had measured it with his hands) was longer than his own, a touch thicker, and it curved up towards the flat belly as it quivered, flushed dark red and looking almost painful in its hardness. Yuuri couldn't quite believe that Conrart hadn't woken up yet, with _this_ between his legs, it must be aching by now. And, at the same time, came the thought that it was _Yuuri_ who had inspired that reaction, had earned it from is careful, devoted worship of Conrart's body, and two kinds of warmth flooded the young king; a rush of blood to his own cock that was enough to make him moan and rub himself against the bed, and a gushing flow of liquid emotion in his stomach, heated and electric, brimming over and spreading to the tips of his every finger and toe. He felt light-headed, elated, and wondered for a moment if he had enough blood to sustain this amount of _feeling_.

Yuuri swallowed, hard. His mouth felt very empty all of a sudden, he was almost _salivating_ and, this close, his nose was filled with Conrart's unique musky, male scent- neither pleasant nor unpleasant, just _him_, but it made Yuuri's throat ache for Conrart, made his skin shiver for want of the man's touch. He reached out a hand to grasp the base of his lover's cock, feeling the familiar heated weight of it, and leaned down, lips parted, to taste.

The flesh was silky beneath his tongue, smooth and sensitive, and the taste was…well, it was sort of like the way Conrart tasted all over, but _more_, and he lapped harder at it, trying to pin down the exact composition of it. The pearly droplets beading the bulbous head were salty, not too unpalatable, and sweeter than he'd expected, given the bitterness of what he sometimes licked off his hand when he couldn't quite be bothered to get up and find a cloth. Experimentally, one hand still moving at the base, Yuuri wrapped his lips around the head and sucked.

Conrart's body jerked, and Yuuri coughed as his mouth was suddenly filled. Gagging, choking, the young king jolted back, releasing Conrart's dick with a popping sound and landing heavily on his backside with a _thump_.

Ruefully, he sat back on his hands and looked up into a very surprised face.

Brown eyes were huge, the pupils dilated in a very recognisable way, no trace of sleep left in them. The absolute _shock_ on the older man's face made Yuuri want to laugh, but he contained the urge. Conrart had sat bolt upright, his hands grasping automatically for his side in search of a sword that wasn't there, and he was panting, his chest heaving.

"Y-Yuuri?" he stammered, eventually, studying his king's face.

Yuuri wondered what he was seeing. His eyelids felt a little heavy, drooping half over his eyes, and he could feel trickles of sweat covering his body. His cock, between wantonly-splayed legs, was fully erect, throbbing now, and he saw his lover's eyes flicker to it and narrow with focused lust. He gestured, catching Conrart's attention, blushing as hazy eyes caught his. "I, er, I just wanted to, er…try?" he hazarded, waving vaguely in the direction of Conrart's groin.

Conrart blinked, uncomprehending, then his jaw dropped. "You…wanted to…try?" he repeated, faintly.

"Uh-huh!" Yuuri nodded, bouncy, growing more confident. "Can I keep going?"

"…keep…"

He would have to treasure this moment. He'd never seen Conrart so unmanned, not even when he had three arrows sticking out of him. The poor man was positively incoherent. Yuuri smirked, uncharacteristically, and rolled himself to his hands and knees. He crawled forwards, enjoying the hitch of Conrart's breath as he looked at him from beneath his fringe, and pushed his lover onto his back with a casually-outstretched hand. "Yes," he purred, lowering his head whilst maintaining eye contact. "Keep going."

Conrart's head _thudded_ against the headboard and he _groaned_. Yuuri chuckled low in his throat, making the man writhe beneath him, and began to experiment with sucking again.

* * *

Yuuri was purring. There was no other word for it.

Conrart lay in something of a daze, one arm slung about his ecstatically-wriggling king. Whatever he had been expecting of this morning, _that_ had not been it. He wondered, vaguely, whether nurturing Yuuri's sexual confidence had been the right thing to do. If he could do _that_ whilst he was still nervous and jittery, what in the name of Shinou would he be capable of when he was completely at ease with it?

He stroked Yuuri's back, petting him, and let the fading shock of orgasm lull him into a drowsy, contented state. Yuuri's technique was nowhere near perfect, but he more than made up for it with sheer stubborn enthusiasm. He'd even swallowed.

"Conrad?"

"Hm?"

"Was…are…was that…okay?"

Conrart blinked down at Yuuri's concerned face. The question made no sense. "I have never been woken up in a more enjoyable way," he replied, after taking a moment to rally his tongue and vocal chords. "It was wonderful. Thank you."

Yuuri squirmed with pleasure and rubbed a cheek against his chest, happy to snuggle. The lack of pressure and slight moistness against his hip told Conrart that he didn't need to worry about returning the gesture _just_ yet. "May I ask where that came from?" he questioned, gently, his voice low and rough.

The body next-to and half-on-top-of him shrugged. "Just…wanted to."

"Ah?"

"Yeah," Yuuri ducked his head and mumbled a bit. "Just…wanted to do something for you, like you do stuff for me."

Conrart glanced down at the dark head in amazement, feeling emotion _yank_ at his throat and coil in his belly, settling heavy and hot in his mind as Yuuri yawned, adorably sleepy.

"C'n we sleep in?" the Maou asked, drowsily, "I don' wanna share t'day w'th 'nyone."

Conrart marvelled, once again at his lover's ability to rock his world to its foundations. "Of course, love," he murmured, lifting Yuuri's head with a finger under his chin to kiss him, full and sound and slow. "Of course we can."


End file.
